


Flight

by Anacrea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, First Dates, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:57:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anacrea/pseuds/Anacrea
Summary: Enjolras accepts an invitation to have dinner with Combeferre.For Oilan, who requested "a lighthearted story during the early days of their relationship when they are just figuring things out."





	Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oilan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oilan/gifts).



Standing before the door of Combeferre’s apartment felt a novel experience. It wasn’t that Enjolras had never visited before, of course. He’d stopped by on numerous occasions to deliver this or that, or stayed a while after walking home with him to carry on some thread of a discussion they’d been having. He had even stayed the night, once or twice, after the hour had grown late without him realizing it.

This was the first time he’d been officially invited beforehand, and the memory of Combeferre grasping his hand, as well as the insistent way he’d intoned, “Have dinner with me,” was still vivid in Enjolras’s mind. It would be the first actual meal they’d shared together, Enjolras realized with some surprise, aside from small dishes in a café with other people.

And, of course, there was the small matter of the way things had changed over the last few weeks. How strange and unsettling that a few shared words and a kiss could cast a new light on everything they did together, while at the same time changing nothing. Yet Enjolras found that the unfamiliar nerves in his stomach, and the sense that he was treading new ground, were not altogether unwelcome. From where he stood, just in front of the door to Combeferre’s apartment, it seemed as though he might be entering a new realm entirely.

Shaking his head to rid himself of fanciful thoughts, Enjolras knocked three times and took a step back.

“Coming!” called a frantic voice from inside. “Hold a moment!”

Enjolras found himself smiling fondly, even before the door opened a half-minute later to reveal a flustered Combeferre. His cheeks were slightly red, his eyes wide, and he even looked a little out of breath, but he was dressed in his nicest coat, with his cravat tied more tightly than Enjolras knew him to prefer it.

“Good evening,” he said, amused, as Combeferre kissed his cheek in greeting, more daring than he would have been even two weeks ago.

“Enjolras! Good evening. Please come inside and mind the clutter.”

Enjolras knew already that Combeferre’s rooms were indeed a mess, and so he couldn’t help but eye him confusedly as he stepped inside. The place was far from spotless, but it was more neat than Enjolras had yet seen it. Nearly all of the books seemed to have found a place on their actual shelves. One of the walls was entirely clear, and Enjolras was certain that hadn’t been the case last time. Most of all, though, the room appeared to be arranged around a dining table, which was neatly set in a way that reminded him of home, on a clean white tablecloth. In the center of that were two candles, and arranged around the table a variety of food – cherries, berries, and peaches; a baguette, and some cheese; ham with apples; and some kind of pastry.

“You’ve cleaned up,” Enjolras said, taken aback. It was true in more than one sense, he thought, as he regarded Combeferre in his new coat, his hair tamed and slicked back. It added to the sense of unfamiliarity, that Combeferre should feel the need to look in any way different from how he usually did, but Enjolras wouldn’t deny that he almost looked fashionable this way. Still, from the way that Combeferre pulled at his coat, he suspected that he didn’t feel any more at ease in this either. “It looks very … enticing. Thank you, this is more than I expected.” Their eyes met for a moment, and Enjolras, feeling Combeferre’s nervous energy, leaned in to return a kiss to his cheek, and then to the corner of his lips.

Combeferre seemed to simultaneously relax and grow more anxious, and he pulled away from Enjolras with a start of energy. “Well! I should thank you for coming. Shall we … ?”

“In a moment, Combeferre,” Enjolras said with a smile, drawing him closer again and taking some pleasure in the sound of Combeferre’s breath catching. “I think you are over-dressed.” He took his time in correcting that, first smoothing a hand over the rolled collar of Combeferre’s frock coat, and then over his arms as he helped him out of it. After hanging up the coat, he returned again to stand in front of Combeferre, reaching up to loosen his cravat and stilling his hands at his collar.

“There,” he said, but didn’t move for a moment as their eyes locked again. Combeferre’s lips parted, though Enjolras was unsure if he meant to say something or to kiss him. Neither happened, and so Enjolras pulled away after a moment of silence, shrugging off his own coat with much less care and hanging it up beside Combeferre’s. “There,” he said again, more softly.

He felt a touch at his arm, and turned to see Combeferre’s hand taking his own. “You’re right. This is much improved.” Enjolras felt himself smile again, and linked their fingers together. Touching Combeferre was not new, but the way in which he allowed himself to do so now, and to be touched in return, was. “But I invited you here for a purpose, let's go.”

Enjolras allowed Combeferre to lead him to the table without protest, regarding with special interest the pastries situated in the center – some sort of turnover, though he couldn’t ascertain exactly what kind before Combeferre drew his attention once more.

“Please, have a seat, Enjolras,” he was saying, and Enjolras noted that Combeferre had already made him a plate and was now pouring him a glass of water.

He thanked Combeferre and sat, looking up at him appreciatively for a moment. Still, when Combeferre pulled away and sat at the opposite side of the table, Enjolras was reminded once again of being at home, as a child, and taking family meals with his father.

This was probably not the desired effect.

They ate in what was at first fairly awkward silence. A companionable quiet between them was normal, as much as was eager chatting about the latest advancements, or of their ideas for the future. This was more like the culmination of nerves; there was something different about this, and to some extent both of them knew what it was, but not what that meant, or where to proceed from here. To be on unfamiliar territory with Combeferre, to have the even ground between them break apart, was new. Yet in fitting themselves together again, Enjolras supposed it was perfectly ordinary to try to do so in ways that didn’t quite work.

Their eyes locked for a long moment, and Enjolras was compelled to break the silence. But first he broke eye contact, and in glancing down at his plate, now more than half cleared, he was struck by the delicate image painted onto the porcelain: a colorful hot air balloon, ascending into the clouds. Letting out a noise of surprise, he looked over to see that the rest of the porcelain on the table was similarly decorated, and realized at the same time the reason for the bare wall he’d noticed when he’d come in. He had seen these plates previously, hung in pride of place on Combeferre’s wall. He recalled, also, how very cautious Combeferre had been while showing them off the first time he’d visited – genuine plates commemorating the first hot air balloon flights by the Montgolfier brothers, among others.

“You haven’t any other plates?” Enjolras asked, before he could stop himself. When he saw the instant dismay that appeared on Combeferre’s face, he reproached himself for his lack of tact.

“What, don’t you like them?” Baffled, Enjolras shook his head. “That doesn’t factor. I – Combeferre… I understand perfectly well the impulse to invite me over. But I’d have been content with a plain meal of bread and cheese, without putting at risk something which is precious to you.”

“It’s hardly risking them to have a meal together, really, Enjolras.” Combeferre looked equally amused and puzzled.

“Don’t tell me that you eat with these every day.”

“Well, no.” Enjolras stared for a moment and pressed his lips. “These mean something to you. I’d have taken more care, if …”

“But you haven’t damaged anything. And in any case, Enjolras, I do have other plates.”

“Then I understand even less why this unnecessary—“

“I wanted to impress you,” Combeferre said, and something about his tone of voice, almost pained, drew Enjolras’s gaze to him immediately. “To show you … Well, now that we … I wanted to treat you …”

As Combeferre faltered, Enjolras felt as though whatever barrier had been between them was now broken, and a warmth rose in his chest in place of nerves. He smiled softly, rising from where he sat and moving to be beside him. “You wanted to woo me,” he teased.

Combeferre looked momentarily embarrassed, and then reached over to take his hand. “Yes,” he admitted, a frown on his face. “Is that such a mistaken impulse?”

“Yes,” said Enjolras, but he squeezed Combeferre’s hand and placed another on his shoulder, to steady him. “But only because there’s no need. Or, rather, only because you have done so already.” This seemed to produce the effect he wanted, which was Combeferre’s silence and attention.

“When I met you for the very first time, and you challenged me, I was impressed. When we became friends, and you showed me just how brilliant, how reliable, how gentle and compassionate you are, I was enamored.” Enjolras’s smile grew teasing. “When you showed me those plates for the first time, and talked about the past and future of balloon travel, I was _wooed_.”

Enjolras inclined his head, and moved the hand on Combeferre’s shoulder to cup his chin, more serious now. “So when you invited me over this evening, I was pleased to spend more time with you, and curious what you had in mind, and – while I am appreciative of the meal you’ve had prepared for me – there was nothing else you needed to do to impress me, not when I am already so thoroughly captivated by you.” Their eyes met, and Enjolras felt a surge of gentle, warm affection for Combeferre. “If anything I might have preferred my easy companion, his unruly hair, and a bit of bread to share while we read the newspaper together. And…”

Just as he trailed off, Combeferre leaned forward and kissed him.

The breath went out of Enjolras’s lungs, and he let out a noise of surprise, responding right away with enthusiasm. His mind travelled instantly back to two weeks prior, when they’d shared a kiss like this one, but that was softer, more of a question, and this carried a bold demand. Enjolras’s eyes snapped shut a few seconds late, and he shifted to hold Combeferre, who’d begun standing in the course of the kiss and was now drawing him closer.

Just as he had the last time, Combeferre parted after a moment with a smile on his face, scanning Enjolras’s face as if for some confirmation. In response, Enjolras smiled and squeezed his hand, speechless for only a moment.

“And that, too,” he added eventually.

“That is the sort of evening you’d prefer?” Combeferre asked, touching his hand to Enjolras’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Enjolras said, glancing back at the table.

Combeferre’s eyes followed his. “But, you did like the plates?”

Enjolras let out a brief, happy laugh and regarded Combeferre with open fondness. “Yes. Whatever interests you, interests me.” He leaned in again, giving Combeferre a short kiss and a shake of his head. “So why don’t we sit together, and you can tell me, or show me, what progress will bring for human flight.”

“For that,” said Combeferre, reaching up with both hands to loosen Enjolras’s cravat, “I think you are over-dressed.”

_An hour later, they lay on the bed together, a tangle of limbs but still half-dressed, having abandoned any other ideas in favor of poring over a diagram that Combeferre was drawing: a balloon with steam engine attached._

**Author's Note:**

> The first powered airship was built in 1852 by Jules Henri Giffard, but inventors had been designing ways to try to steer or control hot air balloons almost since the first successful flight by the Montgolfier brothers. The engine wasn't strong enough to overcome the wind, so it could really only turn in circles, but hey, it proved that controlled flight was possible.


End file.
